


Tippy Top, or How a Wasp, Bacon, and Cole Porter Conspired Against Jim

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, Humor, M/M, None - Freeform, Romance, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:31:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim can't escape the feeling that the entire universe is conspiring against him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tippy Top, or How a Wasp, Bacon, and Cole Porter Conspired Against Jim

## Tippy Top, or How a Wasp, Bacon, and Cole Porter Conspired Against Jim

#### by Aouda Fogg

  
Not mine, more's the pity. Not making any money, or meaning to infringe.  
A huge thank you to Sara_Merry99 for an excellent beta when she had a lot of other stuff going on. Thank you kindly.  
Originally written for Sentinel Thursdays on LJ: Challenge #165: Blair on top.  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

The loft . . . 

Feeling more bleary than awake, Jim stumbled down the stairs -- one of these days he really was going to have to put in another rail -- rubbing his eyes. Since most of his brain was still trying to figure out why he wasn't upstairs, in the warm well of his bed, Egyptian cotton sheets soft against his skin, he didn't really process what he'd seen through this fingers until he was most of the way into the kitchen area. 

Blair really was on top of the counter. 

"Do I even want to know what you're doing?" 

"Oh, hey, Jim." Blair whipped around, not quite losing his balance, but becoming unsteady enough that Jim leapt forward, braced to catch him, only to feel foolish when Blair steadied himself and went on as if he hadn't noticed the fact that his bare feet were perilously close to the edge or that he'd almost taken a header. 

Why were Blair's bare feet on the counter? 

"I didn't wake you, did I?" 

"No, but despite the risk of not really wanting to know the answer, I'll rephrase the question: why are your bare feet on the formerly-clean kitchen counter?" 

"Because I was slipping on it with socks." 

"Of course." Desperately wishing there was a pot of coffee he could lunge for, he got the coffee fixings out of the cupboard by Blair's left hip -- carefully not thinking about such proximity -- and started making a pot. "But why did you feel the need to explore the counter from up there in the first place?" 

"Oh, there was a wasp, which, you know, I'm always opposed to." Jim nodded. He was well-versed in the Sandburgian dislike of all things flying and stinging. "I didn't want it to wake you up, let alone sting you, so I was going to let it out the skylight, but it started getting pissed and flying at me, so, I had to kill it." He gestured to the flyswatter lying askew in the sink. "Which, you know, bummer of way to start a day, karmically speaking, but then I started looking at the tops of the cupboards, which were incredibly dusty, by the way, so I cleaned them," this time the gesture went to a pile of dirty paper towels, some of which had actually hit the trashcan, the rest of which were scattered in an artful disarray around its base. "Then I got to thinking that it would be pretty cool if we did something with this space up here, and that's where you came in." 

The grin Blair shot him from up on top of the counter left Jim helpless to do anything but smile back. "I think you're the only person in the world who could go from hunting a wasp to redecorating." 

"It's a gift, man. Hey, you know what I could really go for? Some peanut butter toast with bacon on top." 

"Sounds good, Chief." 

And Blair clambered down from on top of the counter, they traded off cooking bacon and showering, and even taking time to clean the counter of feet-prints, they still got to work on time. 

* * *

The office . . . . 

Enjoying the warmth from his second cup of coffee of the day -- even if it was decaf in response to pressure from a certain quarter -- Jim watched Simon walk towards him in large, space-eating strides. 

"And how are you this fine morning, sir?" He asked in a deliberately chipper tone of voice. 

"You're awfully happy for eight a.m., Ellison." 

"A good day starts with a good breakfast, sir." 

"Yeah, yeah." Banks took a ferociously big bite of the large danish in the hand not holding paperwork. "What, Sandburg got you eating some kind of twigs and berries?" 

"Nope, we had peanut butter and bacon sandwiches." 

"You're shitting me." 

Jim grinned at the appalled look on the other man's face. "I know how it sounds, but it's actually incredibly good. And the peanut butter gets all drippy and warm, and it goes really well with the salty bacon." He could have gone on, but he didn't want to taunt Simon too much. "Definitely one of the best weird foods Sandburg has introduced me to." 

"Yeah, well, he was right about the goat cheese on the mushrooms. But bacon? With peanut butter?" 

"We'll invite you over next time." 

Simon grunted around another bite of danish. "And now that the menu portion of our day is complete, did you see that all reimbursement forms for this quarter are due at noon? I don't remember seeing anything from that conference you went to last month." 

"Blair's on top of it, sir. In fact, I think he's photocopying and triplicating right now." 

Simon leaned down over his desk and lowered his voice. "Speaking of your partner. . ." 

Jim's entire body went tense while simultaneously trying not to appear tense. It hurt. "Yes?" 

"Don't say anything yet, because even I'm not supposed to know, but the way he handled that hostage situation last month caught some eyes, and Blair's on top of the promotion list." 

The two men grinned at each other, both feeling more than a little gloating pride. "I see a trip to O'Reily's in our future." 

"Should I be worried about the fact that both of you are looking happy?" 

Both men turned to look at Sandburg, who had just come back in, his hands full of triplicated reimbursement forms. "Nah, I was just telling our boss about the glory that is peanut butter and bacon." 

"Ah, I see. And did you tell him you've got to fold the toast over, not cut it, or it just doesn't taste right?" 

"Figured I'd save the intricacies of the recipe to you, Chief." 

"Well, see, Simon . . ." 

* * *

The loft . . . 

More than happy to have the next two days off, Jim collapsed further into the couch, contemplated the day, and tried to decide if his unconscious was fucking with him. It wasn't as if he could possibly predict that Blair would turn mountain goat this morning, or that Simon would chose to share that Sandburg was up for promotion, but why was it that every time he'd turned around today, Blair was on top of _something._

Except, of course, the one thing he really, really wanted Blair Sandburg on top of. Himself. 

And, yet, maybe it wasn't just his unconscious. Maybe the universe was out to get him. Maybe that wasp karma from this morning had somehow transferred itself to him. How else was he supposed to explain the fact that when they'd gone to Mrs. Jenkin's store to talk to her about some missing items, she'd been playing a CD of old show tunes. And "You're the Top" had come on three times while they were there. Random play, my ass, Jim thought. 

The same two lines had been circling in his mind all afternoon: "But if, Baby, I'm the bottom, You're the top!" 

Chuckling at the fact that even Cole Porter was conspiring against him, Jim decided Blair wouldn't be back with the food for at least fifteen minutes and let the lock he normally kept on his brain go. Images that made him gasp flashed behind his eyes. 

Egyptian sheets soft against his back, Blair, hot and just heavy enough, pressing on him from the front. His legs wrapped around Blair's waist, his fingers lost in long curls, the feel of his Guide's cock sliding inexorably inside him over and over. The sensation of Blair coming, shooting hard and deep and pushing him over the edge until they collapsed together in a sweaty heap of limbs that felt more right than anything in the world. 

Being spun around and pushed down on the kitchen counter, his pants shoved down just enough for Blair to have access, but not far enough for him to be able to move. The push and the glide as Blair thrust into him again and again while reaching around and playing with his nipples until he lost all control. 

Fists full of sleeping bag, the scent of wood smoke all around them, soft, inky night welcoming his groans and Blair's gasps as Blair pressed his fingers harder into his hips, holding him still. His hands and knees taking their combined weight. Thighs and arms shaking with that weight and want and the need to come, yet knowing that he would hold out, supporting them both, because it felt so damned good. A quick, bright burst of pain as he bit his lip that vanished when Blair reached around, taking his cock in his hand. The writing callus on Blair's finger hitting him just right and pushing him into coming; the feel of Blair coming right behind him, drawing everything out, making the sensation last even longer, his Guide saying his name over and over just the right grace note on everything. 

The smell of marinara sauce -- 

No, wait, that wasn't right. 

Still lost in the haze of sensation he'd wrapped himself in, Jim opened his eyes to see Blair standing in front of him, his arms full of Italian food and his face creased with worry. 

Sure that his face must be a brighter red than the sauce he could smell, Jim found himself caught in an agony of indecision about whether he should grab a pillow, hope he could approximate nonchalance, and try to hide his erection or if he had any chance of bluffing his way out of this. In the end, he just sat there and stared up at his partner. 

"Wow, pretty deep in thought, there, man." 

"Yeah," Jim croaked. 

"Um, ok." They stood there, staring at each other. 

Even knowing what must be showing in his eyes, Jim couldn't bring himself break that gaze. He sat there and really looked at his partner, and let his partner look back. Distantly he felt his heart pound still harder as something, something flashed in Blair's eyes. 

He inhaled sharply as Blair stepped closer, just a quiet little sound that paradoxically seemed louder than the noise of food containers dropping onto the coffee table. Blair still didn't look away. Neither did he. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Are you--" 

"Yes." 

They paused looking at each other again, the moment spreading out, spilling into something more. Jim saw an answering heat in Blair's eyes and he smiled. Blair smiled back and stepped even closer until his knee was nudging Jim's. 

"Can I--" 

"Anything," Jim shot back immediately, holding out his hand. 

Blair took it, and both of them laughed, somehow sharing the thought that the most important conversation they'd ever had contained fewer words than the one deciding what to have for breakfast this morning. 

The next moment, Jim no longer had to imagine the warm, welcome weight of Blair against him. It felt better than any fantasy could ever approximate. He groaned. 

"Oh, yeah," Blair whispered against his neck, licking it, then biting just enough to force another groan out of Jim. "I've wanted this for so long." Jim could only nod back, holding Blair tighter against him, savoring it. 

Then there was nothing but a whirl of sensation. The eagerness of Blair's mouth against his. Fingers pressing firm against his head, carding through his hair. Raspy silk against his fingers as he ran his hands up and down Blair's chest. The nap of the couch material against his bare thighs. A cool, wet slide of hand cream from the end table. The hot, wet slide of Blair's cock against his own. Blair holding them tight against each other, trapped in Blair's supple fingers, calluses adding a zinging shiver that made Jim buck hard, up against the writhing body on top of him. Blair's voice telling him that next time he was going to take him hard, thrust into him again and again until they couldn't tell where Blair stopped and Jim began. That the time after that, Jim was going to return the favor and come so hard inside him that Blair was going to come just from feeing it. And then, at last, a long, quaking moan gasped out between them as they came so intensely Jim's toes curled against the carpet, a detail that seemed so shockingly mundane that as he relaxed against Blair, he was sure that this was real, not a fevered dream, and simply let the aftershocks rocket through them. 

Collapsing together to the side, they arranged their arms and legs until they were lying together, sliding smoothly into the cays and hollows of each other's bodies. Blair murmured Jim's name, and Jim murmured back, neither of them really saying anything, but each of them knowing what they meant. 

"Love you." 

"Love you back." 

They kissed slowly. Then Blair drew back just far enough that they could look into each other's eyes. "So, what do you want to put on top of those cabinets?" 

* * *

End 

Tippy Top, or How a Wasp, Bacon, and Cole Porter Conspired Against Jim by Aouda Fogg: aoudafogg@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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